


Sleepless

by dovahqueene



Series: Farrow Lavellan [4]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: ? i honestly don't know if it is or not but here ya go, Awkward Crush, F/M, Fluff, there's definitely not a real plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-22 04:16:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7419406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dovahqueene/pseuds/dovahqueene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was getting tired of dreaming of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleepless

The feel of his scar and stubble beneath her lips, on her skin, his hands on her back, warm and sure and strong. Whenever he touched her, her breath shook and her chest grew warm. He could do that, somehow – a simple touch on her arm or hip could drive her mad, and it was almost – _almost –_ amusing that he hadn't been doing it on purpose until now, when she'd been foolish enough to point it out to him. But she found that if she moved her hips just so, or made the right movements with her fingers on the part of his arm where the leather was thinnest or the back of his neck, she could achieve a similar goal. (He was always rubbing the back of his neck when he was uncomfortable, but something about the way she did it made his movements a little less sure.)

It was far too warm that night, though perhaps that was only because of how close he was to her. Her eyelids felt so heavy, and when she tried to open them she could just barely see his own. If he opened them now, she was certain she would start giggling.

"Where are the guards?" she mumbled as their lips parted for only a moment.

A smirk, one that showed itself far too rarely. "Does it matter?"  
"Well, yes," she answered. He'd moved his lips to her neck, and she'd let her eyes flutter close again. "They _are_ fairly important, Commander."

"Mhm."

"It wouldn't do well for the Inquisition if we were attacked by _bandits_ , of all things, and lost the whole keep just because our guards weren't on duty."

"Mhm."

"Isn't that your jo – _oh_."

He'd had his hand underneath her white coat for awhile now, but he'd only just begun to unbutton the rest of her leathers. He wasn't even hesitating working the buttons – of course, uncomplicated clothing clearly wasn't foreign to him.

" _Commander_ , have you any idea _where we are_?" she gasped, eyes wide. His were barely open, and that smirk hadn't left his lips. She hated him for it.

"You said there aren't any guards around."

It was dark, yes, and there were no guards anywhere to be seen, but out here on the battlements? Where anyone could see them?

"You'd _never_ be this bold if this weren't a dream," she mumbled, and then froze.

And then she woke up.

For a moment, she laid still, barely even breathing as she realized what she'd been dreaming about. The warmth she'd felt – it must've been coming from the cat curled up on her legs, and the blankets that were now positively suffocating her.

She sat up, disturbing the cat, and rolled her head towards the low burning candle on her bedside table. She'd been trying to read, but clearly her exhaustion had finally caught up to her. Apparently, though, it had left her again, as she felt wide awake.

The cat on her lap protested with an ugly (or _endearing_ ) noise as she stood, but she ignored it, moving her book to the bedside table. It was stifling in here, and even with her legs bare she felt slightly strangled in her clothing. She needed the doors open.

When she stepped onto the balcony, her feet finally on smooth, cold stone, she managed to take a deep breath.

She was tired of dreaming of him. Tired of waking up tangled in the blankets, hair sticking to her face, embarrassed and flustered and unable to look him in the eyes during council meetings when he spoke. It was getting out of hand; she found herself preoccupied with dreamy thoughts of him far too often. Even now, when all she'd wanted was to clear her mind and enjoy the cold breeze around her face and in her hair, Farrow found herself glancing towards Cullen's office. Sure enough, candlelight flickered through his windows, where he surely sat up working.

And he was _always_ working. At least, that was how Farrow saw him. Dorian swore up and down that he'd seen him in the library, always late at night, and the mage had even claimed that they'd played a game of chess once. _That_ she would've loved to see, but everything between them was all business, all the time, all polite nods and _Inquisitor_ and _Commander_. She had never asked him in so many words to call her Farrow, but she doubted he would even if she did. And she could hardly call him _Cullen_.

A shadow passed one window, and she wondered if he was pacing. He seemed like the type to pace when he was anxious. Another flicker of the light, confirming it as she watched. Not that she was watching him... not really. She couldn't even see him. She was merely glancing. After all, he was her Commander; she ought to see what he was up to. Late at night. When she should be sleeping.

She scolded herself. It wouldn't do for the Inquisitor to be even more exhausted than usual just because she had a silly crush. _And no more dreams, either_ , she told herself.

And yet, as she curled up beside the cat again, balcony doors ajar, she hoped another one of those dreams would find her.

 

**Author's Note:**

> hooray for run-on sentences


End file.
